


Endings: A Ginny Weasley Character Study

by PseudoLeigha



Series: Gin Fics [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10006811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: You know those moments where you think, 'Now. /Now/ I am an adult'?Those moments that serve years later as evidence that you weren't nearly as grown-up as you thought you were?Yeah, this is one of those.One-shot. Canon-compliant. Kind of angsty.I have to admit, I have a real soft spot for the woman Ginny Weasley could have grown up to become.





	

How do you know when your childhood is ended?

Is it when you first learn of adult troubles, of finances and mortgages, and the tenuousness of your family’s position in the world? When you first realize that your parents are not perfect, not paragons of virtue, but merely human, with all the flaws and weaknesses of any other human? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of seven, when I overheard my parents arguing for the first time, about whether a bass guitar (already bought) was worth half a month’s payment on the house and the land.

Is it when you first understand what it means to die, to go away and never return, to have someone taken from you, before you even realize they’re going? When you first realize that you can’t fix everything, even when you want to more than anything? When you watch a family go mad with grief, and never truly recover? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of nine, when Pandora Lovegood died reminding us all why some magics are best left unexplored, and all I could do was hold her daughter while she cried.

Is it when you first push your family away, and learn to take care of yourself? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of ten, when I spent weeks at a time out of the house, sleeping in tents and on friends’ couches, rather than be trapped at home with my overbearing, shrewish mother, and my absentminded, muggle-obsessed father, while all my brothers went off to school, blowing up toilets and making friends with the Boy Who Lived.

Is it when you go through hell – your own, personalized hell? When you first make a mistake that has the potential to harm everyone you know? Is it the first time you try to kill yourself? The first time someone else tries to kill you? The first time you are absolutely helpless, at the mercy of an evil man? Or when you somehow emerge, not unscathed, but with all your tattered pieces more or less holding together, on the other side? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of eleven, when I was possessed by Tom Riddle, and escaped mostly through a friend’s good luck and no thanks to myself.

Is it when you realize that you are all alone in the world? The first time you realize no one really knows you? That you are not special, and no one wants to be your friend? That you are not even the damsel in distress (she gets a _happy_ ending), but only a pawn, to be captured and forgotten as the game moves on? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of twelve, when I was saved, not for myself, but because I was the hero’s best friend’s kid sister, or when I returned to my ‘normal’ life, and was shunned by my peers for my notoriety.

Is it when you learn to stand up for yourself? When you teach yourself what they think a delicate (unstable, tainted?) victim such as yourself should not know? When they don’t understand that what you need more than anything is _control_ over yourself and your life? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of thirteen, when I started learning to control my mind, my body, and my magic – so that no one else ever could again.

Is it when you learn to make people like you? When you realize that there’s no use holding out for the impossible? When you decide to _own_ your experiences, and make your suffering and hard-won lessons work for you? When you learn to joke and flirt and smile mysteriously when they mention your past, instead of shuddering or hexing them, or retreating to cry in dark corners, where no one will know? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of fourteen, when I decided to fight not only to defend myself, but for what I _wanted_.

Is it when you first see battle – real battle, with spells flying thick and your friends in danger? Is it when you make a stand for what you believe in, against the odds, for someone who needs you? Is it when you fall in love, truly, for the first time, realizing that the obtuse boy with the messy hair, shattered by grief, means more to you than the golden ideal ever did? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of fifteen, in the Department of Mysteries, fighting for my life and my friends’, following the boy that I loved, who had saved my life, and whom I owed a debt, even if neither of us ever said it aloud.

Is it when another person, for the first time, depends on you to be there for them, like no one has ever been there for you? Is it when people begin to look up to you? When they start to see you as a protector? When you find yourself terrified of not living up to their expectations, barely making it through one day after the next, but you can’t fall apart, not where any of them might see, because you have to be the fire and the light, always distant from the rest of them, and now, somehow, _better_? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of sixteen, when I held his hand at our leader’s funeral, and again, later, when I was left behind ‘for my own protection,’ in the bowels of a castle occupied by the enemy – when I stood up and announced our resistance.

Is it when they try to protect you, finally, five years too late, and you realize their help is not needed or wanted? When the battle is over and the war is won, and your brother lies dead in the Great Hall and the tears won’t come? Is it when you look at a broken fifteen-year-old wizard, crying over the body of _his_ brother (your friend), and think how strange it is, how young he looks, and (with secret, shameful scorn) how pathetic, that he is only just _now_ realizing how harsh and terrible the world truly is? If so, then my childhood ended two weeks shy of seventeen, with the Final Battle, when all that was left was picking up the pieces.

Is it when everyone acts like everything can go back to normal, and they try to treat you like a child, and you realize that you aren’t, can’t be, haven’t been, _for years_? When you graduate? When you have your certifications, and are recognized by society as a fully qualified adult? When you realize that the piece of parchment with its official seals and the lessons you learned to earn it means nothing in comparison to the lessons you learned to survive? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of eighteen, when I went back to the place I had spent a year fighting for my life, for my freedom, went back to classrooms and exams and studying for NEWTs, reminding myself at every turn that the war truly was over, and Hogwarts was truly safe, for the first time in my seven years there.

Is it when you get your first real job, and you realize that you’re not doing anything like what you thought you would be at this age? When you realize you didn’t really _expect_ to make it to this point in your life? Is it when the man you’ve loved since you were fifteen asks you to marry him? When you stand up and declare your love in front of your assembled friends and family, silently asking yourself how everything managed to turn out this good, and when the other shoe is going to drop? If so, then my childhood ended at the age of twenty-one, because that’s when I finally thought I could start putting the war behind me for the first time.

Today, I am twenty-four years old, and my son has just opened his eyes on his very first day. I’m scared witless, and suddenly certain that I have not been waiting for an ending, but a beginning. This is its herald: a newborn’s hungry cries and a mother’s responsibility for her child. On this day, there is no question. If my childhood had not already ended a dozen times or more, it would today, because my adulthood begins here.


End file.
